


Mysterious Ways

by grewupwithharrypotter



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Torture, M/M, Sabriel - Freeform, post purgatory, season 8 AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-22 16:43:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/611979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grewupwithharrypotter/pseuds/grewupwithharrypotter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabriel helped stop the Apocalypse, died, was resurrected and it was just like jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire. Hell's fire, to be more correct. Crowley caught him, he's Hell's captive, and now it's the Winchesters' turn to repay the favour and risk their lives to save his ass. They do, they survive, but of course an injured, moody archangel isn't the only problem they have to face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fort Knox

**Author's Note:**

> This will likely end up having quite a few chapters, you have been warned~
> 
> Takes place a couple weeks after S08E01, and since we don't know yet what will happen, and Supernatural is as predictable as ever, I decided to make this kind of AU. No Kevin, no Benny (for now), Dean managed to pull Cas out, Cassy isn't being manipulated and he really wants to become a hunter. Also, Gabriel is alive. And Bobby, too. That's about everything you need to know.  
> Hope you like it!  
> x

Something, somewhere, had gone so terribly wrong. Yeah, Gabriel had wanted the Big A to be over, and he had decided to help humankind because he really was that brave and good and kind and whatever synonym for stupidity those human SOBs had made up.

He’d attempted to kill his older brother, had lost and hadn’t it been for the fact that Daddy – who, obviously, wasn’t dead, only… taking a vacation? – didn’t leave his sons in Purgatory unless they’d done something _gravely_ wrong, hadn’t it been for the fact that his death had been pretty damn heroic he wouldn’t have been resurrected, he’d still be dead, he’d still be in Purgatory. And freaking damned hell built of cake, he’d give a great amount of things to get back there. Because this, this was so much worse. 

The Winchesters had won the war, or so they’d thought, Sam had gone from being the biggest jerk alive back to being nice and soft and cuddly, and for a short amount of time, everything had been just about fine. Gabriel had gone back to offing dickheads, had ignored the Winchesters from that day on.

Many things had happened, but nobody had ever called him for help, so he’d kept his low profile, done. Archangel Gabriel had died, the Trickster was reborn. And then everything had changed.

Anarchy in Heaven and chaos in the monster world had encouraged the demons and with that megalomaniac Scotsman Crowley in charge they’d finally succeeded, had managed what Lucifer had failed to do. They’d taken over the world.

And now, two years after that Daddy-damned day Gabriel and a couple of other angels were kept in cells in Crowley’s house of hell, which was some … warehouse of sorts somewhere in the middle of nowhere in Ohio. Bound with pretty much every Enochian symbol known to angels and Holy Oil, and tortured on a daily basis. Crowley called it research, claimed he wanted to find out Heaven’s secrets, but Gabriel had the sneaking suspicion he simply got off on it, the self-crowned King of Hell.

In the end, it didn’t really matter. Whether he did it to gain knowledge, for scientific reasons or just because he was _bloody_ bored, it didn’t have any effect on the outcome. And the outcome was hideous. And as far from being a boost for Gabriel’s ego as it was possible to be.

 

It had been a particularly bad day. Or maybe he was just getting weaker and weaker, Gabriel genuinely couldn’t tell. He didn’t care. He felt like crap. He was told he looked like crap, too. Well, not exactly news to him.

He was hauled out of the torture chamber, bright red blood oozing from the wounds his vessel was covered in, wounds that would take weeks to heal since Crowley had got hold of an angel’s blade, and tended to dunk his knives in Holy Oil before starting his, what had he called it, _interrogations._

There was no such thing as mojo left in him, his Grace was at least as battered as his vessel looked, the only thing the now poor excuse of an archangel had left was what he was determined to make look like his pride, even if it wasn’t more than simple defiance. It earned him shitloads of trouble because he kept answering Crowley’s questions with “Screw you very much.”, but honestly? He didn’t give a damn.

Wouldn’t give away his family, his home. He hadn’t been there in ages, but he wasn’t disloyal. Or, well. Maybe he was. But running away didn’t make him a traitor, it made him a coward. He’d learnt to live with being a coward, but he wouldn’t betray his siblings. Crowley wasn’t strong enough to make him, not by a long shot.

The demons dragged him back to his cell, past tied up djinns and bleeding vampires and beaten up wraiths and what have you, and Gabriel couldn’t but wonder how his siblings were doing. He didn’t ask, it would’ve been pointless, and as he was pushed back into the tiny room he’d spent the last months in he kept the glare, proud and unbroken, on his face until he was completely alone, then collapsed against the wall with a groan. This had to end. He wouldn’t make it through another month. 

 

~~~ 

 

When the first angels disappeared, nobody had been alarmed. It was only natural for them to leave Earth and move to a planet less damaged, after everything there wasn’t much left for them in this world. And Heaven was busy, so the other angels had ignored the clues.

They hadn’t noticed that those disappearances couldn’t be normal, that no angel would be disloyal enough to leave without a word, that their Graces were still present but becoming weaker with every day. Nobody realised, and if they did they didn’t care. A couple of missing soldiers, no big deal. There were greater things to deal with.

But when the tenth angel went missing, it became impossible to ignore the signs. Not to Heaven, Heaven still didn’t care. They had enough problems as it is, so why would they care about a couple perfectly ordinary angels?

However, Castiel wasn’t too busy. After pulling Sam out of Hell, gulping down Leviathans, becoming Godstiel, dying, coming back, going insane and making it through Purgatory and its consequences, he’d allied with the Winchesters, permanently.

He hadn’t fallen completely, but he hadn’t visited Heaven in a long time. Too many things had happened, and while he wasn’t human, he most certainly wasn’t angelic anymore.  Powerful, yes. Faithful… Different story.

He was as close to being a hunter as it was possible to be, for somebody who thought Bugs Bunny was ‘some sort of insect-rabbit hybrid’, had learnt how to shoot a gun, and that telling cops they’d witnessed angels and demons would not get him the desired information. There were still some references he did not understand, but he was working on it.

He’d got used to travelling in the Impala, he could pull his fake IDs from his trench coat and show them to his conversational partner without Dean’s help. All in all, he was pretty fine with how his life had turned out.

That is, until perfectly black/white-evil/good hunter life was interrupted by a sign so completely obvious Castiel could have slapped himself for not having noticed sooner, had he known that slapping themselves was something humans did when they’d done something stupid.

Said sign was a scream. So loud and desperate Castiel couldn’t block it out like he did with the rest of angel radio. It wasn’t a death cry, but it was beyond pained. Terrified. And he knew what was happening, immediately. It wasn’t too hard a guess, really. Torture. Crowley.

So that was the reason ten angels had vanished without telling anybody, why he could still feel their Graces, why they felt… distant, but close at the same time. They hadn’t moved to a new planet, they had been kidnapped. They weren’t far. They were weak.

Determining their location was easy, now that Castiel knew what they were searching for. Sam and Dean put their feelers out, so did the former Angel of the Lord, and two weeks later they had location, and kidnapper. Needless to say, nobody was surprised. It had to be Crowley. Who else?

 

Finding them hadn’t been a challenge. Getting in was. And Castiel didn’t make it any easier by telling them to hurry, that he could feel his siblings’ Graces become weaker with every day, every hour that passed. Dean wasn’t being exactly helpful either, reckless hothead that he was.

Now, it wasn’t a secret that he was anything but fond of the God squat, so to anybody who didn’t know him as  well as Sam did it might seem strange, that he seemed to be just about dying to free a bunch of angels.

To Sam, it wasn’t strange at all. It wasn’t about the captured angels, it was about Castiel wanting to free them. Either way, Dean was being counterproductive. And annoying.

Eventually, they decided to take the risk and zap in with Castiel, then try and find the angels without getting caught. Shouldn’t be too hard, considering they had an angel and the demon killing knife. But of course, it wasn’t all that easy. Castiel zapped them in, they did three steps, and met a group of demons. Quite needless to mention that the black-eyed bastards would never see the end of the day, but secrecy was gone.

It was okay for now, just some corpses slowly rotting on the floor, ah well. But somebody was bound to find the bodies, sooner or later, and they might get a teensy bit suspicious.

“Well that’s just peachy.”  Dean grumbled as he wiped the angel blade on his trousers. Castiel could kill things with a touch to their forehead; he didn’t need a weapon as long as it was just Crowley’s gorillas they were dealing with. So, of course, because profound bond and crap, he’d given his sword to Dean.

Sam just shrugged, tugging the knife out of the corpse which was lying to his feet. It wasn’t the best start, he’d give him that, but he wasn’t surprised. And judging by the looks on their faces, his companions weren’t either. Oh well. It wasn’t as though they couldn’t handle a fight.

After ten minutes and about the same number of demons they reached a corridor with cages that weren’t empty. No angels, just some ghouls, but apparently they were getting close. Still, something about this…

“You don’t think it was too easy, getting in I mean?” Sam glanced at his brother as they walked along behind Castiel who had taken the lead, then at the angel’s back. “I mean, this is the King of Hell’s prison, right? It should be friggin’ FortKnox. All we get is some low level demons.”

“Don’t know, man, I’m actually pretty fine with low level demons.” Dean answered, but he seemed to know what Sam meant, fingers tightening around the grip of the angel blade. “Crowley still thinks Cas is dead, right? So why make the place angel proof?”

“As a matter of fact, the walls are covered in Enochian symbols.” Castiel pointed out with that ridiculously growly voice of his, prompting Sam to quirk an eyebrow in surprise. “However, due to you, I now am perfectly capable of blackmailing, and I had a demon manipulate the symbols before we got here.”

Sam could see Dean’s disapproval and personally, he thought it was a pretty damn stupid idea, too, but when he opened his mouth to point out that trusting demons was a mistake he would not recommend making, they encountered the next demon patrol and were too busy fighting to try and figure out whether or not Crowley was luring them into a trap.

It went on like this until finally, three patrols later, Castiel froze, eyes sliding shut. He didn’t say anything, just stood there like some statue in a trench coat, and Sam and Dean exchanged confused glances, Sam raising his brows and Dean shrugging then reaching out to pat the angel’s shoulder when Castiel opened his mouth to speak, prompting Dean to freeze mid-air.

“I can sense them. They must be fairly close, but their Graces are so weak I didn’t notice until now.” He didn’t say any more, but he didn’t move either. Sam glanced at Dean, Dean stared at Castiel, then made a step forward to push past him but was held back by the angel’s hand curling in the fabric of his jacket.

“What’s wrong? Thought we wanna get them out of here.”

“Something is not right.”

Well, no shit Sherlock, nothing about this was right. It was a _prison_ filled with _monsters_ , and they were about to rescue some pro-Apocalypse jerks. But that wasn’t what Castiel meant, obviously.

“What’s wrong, Cas?” Sam asked, ignoring Dean’s futile attempts to free himself and walking past him to side-glance at the angel.

“Ten angels vanished. I sense eleven.”

“Well, maybe your angel radar’s not working.” Dean snarled, now pulling at his jacket. Castiel glanced at him, eyes flickering down to his hand, and let him go to take a step forwards.

“There are eleven, I am certain. And… One of them is much more powerful than the others.”

“Maybe Crowley kidnapped another one?” Sam suggested, glancing over his shoulder uncomfortably. “Can we get going already? No offence, Cas, but this isn’t the best place to solve riddles.”

Castiel ignored him completely and Sam considered asking again but the angel just – vanished, triggering a groan of Dean’s.

“Jesus Christ, really? Cas, get your ass back here!”

Castiel appeared to have heard him since barely a second later he was back, way closer to Dean than he had been before. In fact, their chests were touching, and Sam looked pointedly away, away, therefore not seeing Dean totally _not_ flush and push Castiel away and grumble something about personal space.

The angel didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he simply didn’t care, he just stepped back and fixed his trench coat, then looked up. And he looked excited. Kind of scared, too, but mainly really excited.

“I can’t find them, there are too many cages, but I know the general direction. And I think Crowley has captured an archangel.”

Well, that was a surprise. Not an entirely pleasant one. Dean froze dead, staring at him as if he had grown a second head, and Sam reckoned he was looking just as stupid.

“They’re all dead.” Dean remarked, “Or gone. Lucifer iced Gabriel, you smoked the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle, and…”

“And Lucifer and Michael are in _Hell_.” Castiel finished his sentence, and Sam felt sick all of a sudden.

“You don’t think he pulled them out, do you?”  He asked hesitatingly, because he was pretty sure he did not want to know the answer to this question, if the answer was what he believed it to be.

Castiel merely glanced at him then started walking. “We have to hurry.”

And hurry they did. Because excited Castiel was not to be argued with, and because they just wanted out. If Crowley had freed Lucifer, or Michael, for whatever stupid reason, they were screwed. And the sooner they got away the better.  

 

It was pretty clear that they were close when Castiel stopped all of a sudden, sticking out his arms so Sam and Dean wouldn’t keep walking. He nodded at the floor and when Sam looked down he noticed a thin line of oil.

“Holy Oil?”

Castiel glanced at him and took a step forward, and the line caught fire immediately. He stepped back, and it stopped.

“Obviously.”

Probably a precaution. A lame one, and definitely not the only one. Crowley wasn’t stupid enough to think that angels could be stopped by one thin line of burning oil if they really wanted to get away.

Dean pushed past the angel and smudged the oil line with his shoe, and they continued walking. Two minutes, three ‘traps’ and dozens of empty cages later, they heard a voice.

“B-brother?”

It was a woman, so badly injured it was humanly impossible for her to be alive. She was sitting in one of the cages, surrounded by a circle of Holy Fire, the walls of her cell were covered in Enochian words, letters, runes, symbols, whatever, and Castiel frowned.

“I can’t get in. You have to open the door.” He turned to face the Winchesters, even more excited than before even though he seemed to be trying to keep his cool. And he managed pretty well. Not that excited Castiel looked particularly excited to somebody who didn’t know him. “And destroy this symbol. The others are what keeps her from using her Grace. The one I’m showing you means imprisonment.”

He pointed at a relatively big one and Sam nodded, pulling his lock pick from his pocket.

“T-there is a control box, round the corner.” The captured angel pointed out after a wary glance at the Winchesters. Sam didn’t know if she recognised them, or Castiel, who was an outcast, but if she did she didn’t mind. Of course not. They were here to help. “Crowley, he uses it to turn off the Holy Fire when he…”  

She closed her mouth, maybe too weak to speak, maybe too traumatised. Or maybe it was an angel thing, shutting up immediately when they believed they had said enough.

Castiel nodded and turned to Dean, telling him to go search said box. Sam handed his brother the demon killing knife, he wouldn’t need it with an angel watching his back, and when Dean was gone he pushed past Castiel to pick the lock of the door, pushing it open barely five minutes later.

He shouldn’t be so fast, he figured, he shouldn’t be so skilful. They were the good guys, after all. The good guys shouldn’t be so experienced with a lock pick they could easily start a career as thieves if credit card fraud ever ceased working. But then again, credit card fraud wasn’t exactly what good guys did, either, and as long as it was only Crowley’s stupid locks they were breaking it didn’t matter.

He opened the door and scraped the symbol off the wall. The Holy Fire went out just when he put down his knife, and a part of him was expecting the angel to vanish, but nothing happened. Sam turned around, giving Castiel a questioning look, and the angel stepped back, indicating to Sam to get her out of the cell.

So he grabbed the woman’s arm, gently, where he thought she didn’t have too many injuries, and the moment she was out of the tiny room Castiel reached out, tapping two fingers against his forehead. She bowed her head, sighed in relief, then vanished. Castiel nodded, glancing up ever so briefly when Dean came back.

“Wait, where’s the angel?”

“Cas sent her… Where’d you send her, Cas?”

“Heaven.” He said it as if it was obvious, tilting his head to the side. “You saw her injuries, it is not possible for me to heal her.”

Well, to Sam that sounded reasonable, but Dean did have objections. Which, to be fair, sounded reasonable to Sam, too.

“Yeah, but Cas, she could’ve helped us. One angel down, ten to go. One of which might be friggin’ Lucifer. And we gotta be fast, I offed five demons on my way to that box.”

Castiel flicked his eyes upwards, a movement which resembled eye-rolling, kind of.

“Of course I wouldn’t send her away without collecting all information we need. We have ways way quicker than what you humans call conversation.” He stopped at that and started walking, ignoring Sam and Dean’s gazes. Well, he probably didn’t ignore them. He just didn’t notice them, which was why Sam cleared his throat and spoke.

“So, what did you find out?”

Castiel looked at him over his shoulder but didn’t stop walking, so the brothers followed him.

“There are, were, eleven angels in this building. Crowley seems to have learnt far too many Enochian symbols for our good, like the one I had Sam remove, therefore he was able to capture them. They have tried to call help but the other angels don’t react. However, I wasn’t the only one who heard them. One angel did, about nine months ago. My sister said he had come to help them, but he underestimated Crowley and was captured, too.”

“And that’s the archangel?” Sam wanted to know, and Castiel nodded. “Who is it?”

“The Messenger. It’s Gabriel.”


	2. Rescue

Funny, how that piece of information made Sam sort of antsy, fingers itching, twitching, skin tingling with nervousness. He didn’t know what it was he wanted, or why he wanted it, but he did know that he felt the odd urge to push Castiel aside and go search Gabriel on his own.

He didn’t do so, of course. Firstly, it would be unreasonable. He had no idea where to go, he wouldn’t know which symbols to remove. Secondly, they were still dropping bodies and had opened a cage, it was about time Crowley noticed them. And while Sam was a damn good fighter, if Crowley noticed them, and sent his demons after him he wouldn’t be of much use to Gabriel, not without Castiel.

So he clenched his hands to fists to hide his twitching fingers, and narrowed his eyes slightly when he realised that Dean was talking.

“It can’t be Gabriel. He’s dead. Lucifer killed him.”

Castiel didn’t look back, but Sam could see him tilt his head slightly.

“Did you see him die?”

“Well, no, but...”

“I saw his vessel.” Sam shrugged when Dean and Castiel turned their heads to look at him, Dean with a mix of surprise and disbelief on his face. “Went back the next day, I wanted to make sure he’s, well. His vessel was still there, and there were these wing prints kind of burned in the ground. He looked pretty dead to me.”

The memory hurt, Gabriel had been a friend. And he’d died for them. But Sam’s expression remained straight.

Dean seemed to consider whether this was the right moment to ask Sam why he had gone back, and why he’d done it without him, so Sam rolled his eyes at him, because uh, yeah, _no_ , this was as far from being the right moment as possible, and Dean shrugged, glancing at Castiel.

“You sure it’s him?”

“Quite sure.”

That answer was way more relieving than it should have been.

“Then how about we ask him when we get there?”

Good plan. Good plan, because it included _movement_ , and they wouldn’t just stand there and talk while the archangel who’d given his life for humankind was rotting in some cell. And the other angels, of course. There were other angels rotting in cells, too. Not just Gabriel.

They moved, and it wasn’t long until they found another one of Castiel’s siblings, equally injured, the same sigils covering the walls of his cell. He was standing, face cold but eyes sparkling with fear, fear which changed into confusion when he saw the Winchesters, no demons in front of his cage. They freed him, Castiel sent him away, and it was the same with the next angel, and the next, and the next.

And now it was getting creepy.

“No demons. Where are the freaking demons?” Dean sounded angry, and Sam knew he was nervous.

It couldn’t be right. They had opened five cages, they’d killed about thirty guards – demons, technically, but not exactly what you’d expect when you break into Hell’s prison – and still, no alarm. So, unless Crowley’s ego had grown so big he was stupid enough to underestimate the Winchesters…

“It’s a trap.” Dean sounded even angrier, Sam’s reaction was simply a twitch of his shoulders, he didn’t take his eyes off the symbol he was trying to remove. Well, yeah. It was _Crowley_.

“We search the angels, Cas zaps them away and if Crowley sends his demons we fight. You gonna keep standing there? I could use a hand.” He wasn’t so calm, not really, but if Dean noticed he didn’t say anything.

It had to be a trap, no doubt. But they freed angel after angel, killed guard after guard, and nothing happened. Six cages open, no alarm. Seven, nothing. Eight, even Castiel was getting nervous now. (Dean noticed, to Sam he looked as calm as ever.) Nine, ten. Only Gabriel left. Sam had never been more tense.

Nothing worse than a fight that was supposed to be inevitable, but didn’t come. And to make matters even better Gabriel was nowhere to be seen. The cages surrounding the other angels had been empty, Crowley had kept them separated from other prisoners, but Castiel led them away from what might function as a high security wing, and back to vampires and djinns and ghouls and wraiths.

Sam wanted to ask if he was sure this was the right direction, but before he could open his mouth Castiel stopped abruptly, and Sam froze when he followed his gaze.

He was used to seeing Gabriel, archangel and Trickster, confident, mighty, superior. They had ‘killed’ him twice and he’d always got away without a single scratch, and even when Sam went back and saw him dead it had been an intimidating sight, those huge ashen wings surrounding him. Now, he just looked… beaten.

He was sitting on a plank bed, eyes closed, head leaning against the wall, and he wasn’t moving, not even breathing, causing Sam to pale before he realised that angels didn’t need to breathe.

His clothes were torn, soaked in blood, his shirt too ragged to cover the wounds in his upper body. Deep gashes, stab wounds, most of them still bleeding. And then there were two cuts which weren’t leaking blood. They weren’t particularly big, didn’t look too deep, but Sam had a feeling they were even worse than the rest of Gabriel’s injuries. No blood, but they were glowing softly, bathing the wall next to the angel in beautiful white light. Beautiful, not painfully bright. Hardly a good sign.  
And then Gabriel opened his eyes and looked up, and Sam swallowed when the archangel locked their gazes. His eyes didn’t shine anymore, they weren’t challenging, teasing. They were dead.

“Ya just gonna stand there and look pretty?”

It took him a moment to realise that Gabriel was talking, watching them impatiently. His tone of voice was as taunting as ever, which would have been reassuring hadn’t it been for the broken undertone.

Castiel had already stepped closer, was examining the sigils on Gabriel’s walls, frowning slightly, but Sam didn’t move. The others had been surprised. Gabriel wasn’t.

“You knew we were coming?”

“Felt him.” He nodded at Castiel, who looked up, tilting his head to the side.

“It is true, then?”

Gabriel smirked slightly, it wasn’t genuine.

“Should’ve seen Crowley’s face.”

Dean raised his brow, Sam shrugged at the questioning look. He didn’t know what the angels were talking about. And he didn’t care, he just wanted to open that damned cage and get away.

There was no Holy Fire, only a dark circle on the floor, but Gabriel’s cell was slightly bigger, and there were way more symbols on the walls. Not all of them Enochian. In fact, Sam knew some of them. They were pagan, gave whoever knew the right spell the power to control pagan gods. Like Loki, for example. Apparently Crowley believed in that Trickster crap.

“There any alarm systems we should know about?” Dean asked as Sam approached the cage, fumbling his lock pick out of his jacket.

Gabriel shrugged, although with all the blood covering him it looked more like a wince of pain. “Nah. Guess I’m not special enough.”

Sam looked at him, Gabriel’s eyes were closed again, then reached out. The moment he touched the door, alarm bells started ringing. The archangel looked genuinely surprised, but not overly concerned. Which was kind of unnerving.

“Oh well, that’s flattering.”

Dean rolled his eyes at him and Sam jammed his tool into the lock, now grateful for his skills.

“Hurry!” It was Dean’s voice, and Sam bit his lip when he heard steps. Many steps. The sound of people running, running towards them, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out that this was what they’d been waiting for.

“Sammy, hurry!”

“I _am_ hurrying!”

The door flew open, Dean pushed past him, they removed the sigils Castiel was pointing at, pulled Gabriel too his feet and out of the cell, Castiel raised his hands, and then everything was bright light, the piercing sound of bells drowning in that of rustling feathers.

 

It was different this time. Zapping. Usually, when they travelled angel style, it was direct, completely painless and fast as lightning. Easy, handy, and Sam had never been able to understand why Dean hated it so much.

Sometimes he thought the only reason his brother kept complaining was the Impala. Dean and his car. A pretty, well, _special_ relationship. He probably felt like he was betraying her when he let Castiel zap him around.

This time, it felt different. The light was too bright, painful even though Sam kept his eyes squeezed shut, and it was hot, hotter than fire, and too close. Sam’s skin was burning, his head felt as if it was about to explode, his body was writhing, trying to get away from what didn’t feel like Castiel at all.

Then, all of a sudden, it was over, and he found himself lying face down in something cold and wet, grass, he thought as he moved his fingers.

Why grass? They’d started this ‘journey’ in a car park. It was way too quiet, too. And it smelt like trees, like grass, like woods, not like the city their motel was in.

Sam frowned and tried to move his body, carefully. It worked just fine and he sat up slowly, rubbing a hand over his face, wiping mud off his forehead before risking looking around.

No, this wasn’t the car park anymore. This was a forest, an actual forest with trees and grass and roots on the ground, and Sam’s frown deepened when he saw Dean, sitting up a couple feet away.

“Where are we?”

His brother raised his head and looked relieved when he saw Sam, shrugging. “No idea. Where’s Cas?”

“I am here.”

They turned around, and Sam was on his feet in less than a second when he saw the angel, standing next to a lifeless body. Gabriel.

“What happened?” He knelt down next to the archangel, hesitating, then chose not to touch him.

“I couldn’t get out.” Castiel explained, nodding when Dean asked him if he was alright. “The sigils the demon removed for me were restored. We were trapped.”

“Told you it’s a trap!” Dean sounded way too triumphant, and Sam sent him a glare before letting his gaze slide back to Castiel, still kneeling next to Gabriel.

“Then how did we get out?”

Castiel hesitated, looking down at his brother’s body, and Sam’s frown turned into an expression of disbelief.

“You’re kidding. You said they were weak, right?”

“They are weak.” Castiel crouched down, touching Gabriel’s bloodstained shoulder. “I don’t know how he did it, but he caused an explosion strong enough to kill all demons, and shatter half of the building. And then he brought us here.” His hand travelled down, stopping when it reached the wound that had been glowing before. The light was gone, and Sam swallowed.

“Is he…”

“No, he is alive. But his Grace… It’s not gone. It’s very weak, but it’s not gone completely.”

“Can you heal him?”

Castiel retreated his hand, and when he raised his head and locked their gazes, Sam thought he saw something akin to pain.

“No, I can’t. Archangels are too strong. He would absorb my Grace, drain me completely, and it wouldn’t improve his condition in the slightest. If I could send him back to Heaven…”

“Well, just do it.”

“They would kill him. Gabriel is said to be dead, that’s why they haven’t banished him yet. He ran away, left his duties behind. If I send him back I may as well sign his death sentence.”

Sam nodded, running a hand over his face, through his hair. Brilliant. This was getting better and better.

“Then what do we do?”

“We take him with us and take care of his wounds. His Grace can regenerate, but it takes time.”

He nodded again and pushed himself to his feet. To be honest, Sam, and judging by his expression Dean too, had been expecting something wickedly complicated like some ritual involving bones of a saint, or fulgurites. Just time, that was too good to be true. Sam wasn’t going to argue.

“Alright. Let’s take him to our motel. It’s not far away… I think…”

There was a forest, not far from their motel, but for some reason Sam didn’t think this was the right one.

“Where are we?”

“China.”

Well… Alright. That _was_ far away. That was pretty damn far away.

“China? What the hell are we doing in China?” Dean was staring at Castiel, sounding more than a bit confused, and Sam couldn’t escape the feeling that all his brother cared about right now was his car. Normally, he would point it out. But this wasn’t the right time to wind Dean up.

“Gabriel was too weak to control his flight.” Castiel answered and held out a hand, the other resting on Gabriel’s shoulder. Sam sighed, Dean rolled his eyes, they came closer and the instant he touched his skin they were zapped away again, but this time it felt right.

When Sam opened his eyes they were standing in the middle of their motel room, Gabriel’s limp body in Castiel’s arms, who now set him down on Sam’s  bed.

“And now?”

The angel returned Sam’s questioning gaze with a tilt of his head, eyes flickering between Gabriel and the hunter.

“Now it’s time to take care of his vessel. He won’t be unconscious for long. And he will be in pain when he wakes up.”


	3. Weak

 

There was something incredibly unsettling about seeing Castiel, Angel of the Lord, who could heal anything and anyone, who had been resurrected by the big boss himself and more than once at that, who could kill like _anything_ with one touch, so… clueless.

He wasn’t just standing there, no. He’d taken off his trench coat, had rolled up his sleeves. And he seemed to be trying to hide it, his cluelessness.

But it was obvious, so very painfully obvious, and Sam, sitting next to Dean on the free bed and watching the angel, was clenching his fists without noticing.

Castiel had taken off Gabriel’s clothes – had covered his lower parts with a blanket because Dean wouldn’t stop bitching about how ‘seeing another guy’s junk’ would make him want to ‘bleach his eyeballs’ – and it was a horrible sight.

Even for Sam, who had seen a lot, loads of injuries and blood and pain and death. He’d seen victims of torture, but this… This was an _archangel_. One of the mightiest beings in the universe. _The_ mightiest being, maybe.

And that’s why it was so bad, seeing Castiel like this. Seeing him hopeless, seeing him put his hands over cuts and gashes and pulling away so fast, too fast, as if something had bitten him.

That’s why it was so hard to watch him get more and more desperate, even if his face hardly showed it.

Because seeing Castiel, Angel of the Lord, clueless, was quite scary.

And seeing Gabriel, Messenger of God, Defender of Humanity, the Last Archangel, defeated, was more horrific than any demon, any werewolf, anything could ever be.

He was thin, way thinner than Sam had ever seen him. Not too thin by human standards, he didn’t look anorexic, but considering the fact that an angel’s vessel didn’t lose weight, even if the angel spent centuries without eating, it was a terrifying sight. According to Castiel, he’d simply become too weak to maintain his vessel’s body weight.

The wounds in his chest looked even worse now that his shirt was gone, and Sam’s own skin was tingling with imaginary pain just because he was seeing it. What wasn’t covered in dry blood or gashes was riddled with scars; something Sam knew couldn’t be good. It meant the wounds had healed without Gabriel’s help.

And Castiel was of little help. Yeah, he tried. But he couldn’t heal him, not even the tiniest cuts. He let his palm start glowing, brought it down, and before he could touch Gabriel’s skin he had to pull back, the glow vanishing immediately, the angel’s face growing more and more concerned.

“What is it?” Dean asked finally, when Castiel failed to heal the smallest cut, barely more than a scratch.

“As I expected, it doesn’t work. Gabriel’ Grace absorbs mine, it won’t let me heal his vessel.” Castiel stepped back and tugged his sleeves back to place, putting his trench coat back on. “I can’t do anything.”

Well, that made it quite easy, actually. No mojo, meant doing it the old-fashioned way.

So Sam stood and fetched the first aid kit, not sure if this was actually happening. If he was going to patch up an archangel, for real.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, clearly nervous, but he knew it had to be him, because there was nobody else.

Castiel couldn’t be trusted with a needle. For obvious reasons.

And Dean… Well. Dean. Dean was about as delicate as a bulldozer. If possible, Sam stitched himself up, because his brother seemed to think wounds would heal faster if he made stitches so tight the thread was close to tearing apart.

So, obviously, Sam was going to be the one to do the job. Even if it scared the shit out of him. Because who knows?

Gabriel might wake up any moment, Grace intact, and zap his ass to the moon because he’d dared touch him.

Or, and this was even scarier, Sam might screw up and make everything even worse.

Sam Winchester, killed the Last Archangel.

Didn’t sound awesome at all.

It would suit him, though.

In addition to Sam Winchester, got his parents killed.

Sam Winchester, started the Apocalypse.

He swallowed, looking down at the first aid kit in his hands, and no, this was a bad idea. A really, really bad idea.

But that didn’t stop him from soaking gauze in antiseptic agent and running it over a particularly deep gash, the deepest, he had to start somewhere.

It had to be done. Bad idea or not.

He cleaned the wound, stitched it up, applied antiseptic ointment and patches, and he did it in less than five minutes, because he was as good at patching up wounds as he was at picking locks.

Not something he was proud of, considering the stories behind this skill, but definitely handy.

 

He was fast, but not fast enough to finish. Castiel was right, and Sam was working on the fourth cut when the archangel started to stir. Causing the hunter to move his fingers slightly faster.

He hadn’t killed him, obviously, but he didn’t fancy being trapped on the moon.

“Cas, he’s waking up.”

Castiel was sitting next to Dean now, really close, totally not typical and all that, and he returned Sam’s nervous glance with a calm tilt of his head, obviously not worrying about the hunter’s ass being kicked off the Earth.

“Keep working.”

So Sam kept working, tried to ignore the way Gabriel twitched every time he pierced the skin with the needle. Losing Grace affected the ability to block out pain, then.

There were eleven gashes that needed to be tended to, and by the time the archangel opened his eyes, he’d done seven.

Unfortunately, Gabriel didn’t seem to like what he woke up to.

He mumbled something, stilled, and then sat up so fast Sam ran the needle into his own finger.

“The hell?”

He sounded confused, not surprising, and when he looked down, and noticed that the blanket had shifted, he flushed slightly. Er, quite surprising.

Sam threw his head back to stare at the ceiling, because he wasn’t going to stare at a powerless archangel’s penis. Especially not when Dean and Castiel were sitting on the next bed.

Not that he would have done it if they hadn’t been there.

It was just, you know.

Even more awkward.

He heard Gabriel tug at the fabric, and when he was sure the archangel wasn’t exposed anymore he looked down, almost wincing when he saw his face.

Gabriel tried his best to hide it, behind a façade of anger and annoyance and grumpiness, and Sam didn’t doubt that he felt all those things, because the glare those golden eyes were throwing at him was genuine, no doubt.

But there was something else, too.

Fear.

Sam pulled his hands back immediately.

“Well?” He was pretty good at being grumpy, though. Almost as good as Dean.

“Well what?”

“Well why’re you gropin’ me?”

“I wasn’t- I wasn’t groping you. I was stitching your wounds.”

“Why’re you doin’ that?” Gabriel frowned at him, eyes flickering over to the other bed, while Sam’s were still fixed on the archangel’s face. “You got an angel sitting over there. Making puppy eyes at your brother. You two a thing?”

At that, Sam did turn his head, and quickly at that, and it was good to see Dean blush furiously, moving away from Castiel until he almost fell off the edge of the bed-

Ah. Until he did fall off the edge of the bed.

It was good to see him like that because it made Gabriel smirk, and judging by that expression, and the surprise in Castiel’s blue eyes, nobody had been making puppy eyes at Dean and Gabriel had aimed for this reaction.

He hadn’t lost his sense of humour, then. That was a relief.

“We’re not!” But Dean was ignored, and Castiel pushed himself to his feet, showing Gabriel what he’d shown the Winchesters about half an hour ago. Gabriel sighed.

“Makes sense.” He looked down at himself and started prodding at the bandages, until Sam couldn’t hold back anymore and reached out to smack his hand away.  

“Stop. You’re gonna make it worse.”

The look Gabriel gave him was so utterly surprised, Sam couldn’t hold back a small smirk. And he did try to hold it back, he really did.

Gabriel’s brows arched but before Sam could ask him what’s wrong, or maybe apologise, or do what-the-hell-ever he was supposed to be doing, he averted his gaze to stare at their brothers, raised his hand and pointed at the door.

“Out.”

It was Sam’s turn to look surprised, now. And Dean’s. Even Castiel looked kind of puzzled.

“Gabriel-“

“ _Out._ ”

And Castiel vanished, which made Dean jump to his feet.

“Where’d you send him this time?!”

Gabriel rolled his eyes.

“Nowhere. He just can’t disobey my orders, Dean-o. Now, shoo. Don’t make your boyfriend wait.”

“He’s not my-“

“I said _out_.”

If looks could kill, Gabriel would die twice. But, glaring or not, Dean stood. He didn’t leave yet, not until Sam nodded. And when he left, he slammed the door shut, so hard Sam was expecting the ceiling to come down.

“Why did you send them out?”

“Because. Don’t wanna have an audience. If I let Castiel do it he’d sew my arm to the bed or something stupid like that. And I don’t trust your bro with sharp things.” Gabriel settled back, watching Sam expectantly, and it made the hunter shiver.

“But you trust me?”

Gabriel didn’t answer, he pointed at a cut, then folded his arms under his head, gaze fixed on the ceiling. So Sam started working again.

He was working gently now, trying to reduce the pain even though he knew it wouldn’t work, because a needle through your skin was painful, whether it was done slowly or not, gently, or not.

But Gabriel was oddly silent, all the time, and when Sam applied the bandages to the last gash he still wasn’t talking, and he hadn’t winced, not once.

Considering how annoyingly talkative the archangel used to be it was pretty scary, seeing him lie there, blinking, now breathing too, but not saying anything.

And for a moment, Sam was worried.

“Uh, Gabriel?”

Gabriel closed his eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I’m weak.”

There it was again; fear. And Sam didn’t hesitate this time. He reached out and touched the angel’s shoulder, where he couldn’t see any wounds.

“Cas said it’d come back. Just needs time.”

“Cas doesn’t know everything.”

“You saying it won’t-“

“I’m saying I don’t know.” Gabriel tensed under Sam’s hand, shifting slightly, and Sam understood and let go of him. “I’m saying I’m weak. And I can’t be weak. Archangels don’t get weak. That’s never happened before, Dad’s sake, I’m not supposedto be _weak_. I’m supposed to be kicking ass. Cas is different. Lower pay grade. Yeah, his Grace kinda grows back. Don’t know if mine can do that. If it can, no idea how long it’ll take. Might be weeks, might be months, might be centuries.”

Sam nodded, hands resting on his thighs. He had no idea what to do, obviously, Gabriel himself didn’t know after all, but he did know that panic wasn’t what they needed right now.

“Let me just finish this, and then I’ll call Bobby.”

“What for? You can do research ‘til your head explodes, there’s nothing so you won’t find anything.”

“You haven’t been in Heaven for what, decades?”

“Centuries.”

“Right. Well, maybe you missed something.”

“Yeah.  Maybe.”

Gabriel didn’t look convinced but he shut up again, so Sam didn’t say any more on the subject, forcing himself to focus on patching him up.

“Is it just your upper body?”

Gabriel propped himself up on his elbows, looking down at himself. He nodded, so Sam set needle and thread down and reached up to check the bandages. When he was sure they wouldn’t come off he stood and put away the first aid kit, ignoring the fact that he could feel Gabriel’s gaze on his back.

“Can’t blame you for swooning over my flawless body, Samsquatch, but I’d like to have my clothes back.”

He couldn’t ignore that, obviously, and turned around, leaning against the desk.

“Cas scorched them. Said we shouldn’t leave them lying about, they were soaked with angel blood.”

Gabriel snorted.

“Yeah, right. Cause they don’t have enough angel blood already. So it’s birthday suit for me, or what?”

“Well…” Sam shrugged and pushed himself off the desk, moving to the closet. He considered giving him some of Dean’s clothes, but…

No.

He didn’t know why, he had absolutely no idea, but Gabriel in Dean’s clothes… Just felt wrong.

Whereas Gabriel in Sam’s clothes, no problem at all.

Sam told himself it was because the only angel that should be in Dean’s clothes was Castiel – and everyone could see that, except for Dean.

So he gave Gabriel a pair of sweatpants and a tee-shirt, twice the vessel’s size but who the hell cared, hesitating, and then added socks and a pair of boxers.

“Thanks a bunch, Sambo.”

“Don’t mention it. Do you need help, or-“

And then he had to look away because Gabriel’s answer was a roll of his eyes and he stood without a warning and went to the bathroom, and Sam caught a glimpse of his ass, and it was a damn nice ass, actually –

No, of course it wasn’t. Sam was just… Well…

Adrenaline.

Right.

He sighed when he heard the door click shut, rubbing a hand over his face. The angels were free, but the problem wasn’t solved.

Gabriel had died for them – yeah, he was back, but that didn’t change anything – and Sam wanted to help him.

Because he deserved getting his Grace back.

Because Gabriel shouldn’t be feeling weak. Not Gabriel.

 

Sam had been alone in the room for about five minutes, when the front door was torn open and slammed shut, and a rather pale Dean crouched down to salt the crack between door and floor.

“Where’s  Gabriel?”

Sam, watching his brother, only a little bit confused, pointed at the other door. “Bathroom. What’s wrong?”

Rustling feathers announced Castiel, and Dean ignored Sam as he straightened himself.

“Thirty, and I think there are more in town.” Castiel sounded… worried. Kind of.

“Seriously, what’s wrong?”

Castiel averted his eyes from Dean and went to the window, and Sam swallowed when his gaze followed the angel’s.

The motel was surrounded by what looked like completely normal civilians, apart from their pitch black eyes. Just what they needed to perfect this day, then.

“What do they want?”

Sam didn’t know why he even asked, the answer was obvious.

“Alright, don’t answer that. How do we get out?”


	4. Hope

Of course, the moment that question left his lips it became ridiculous, too. Standing next to a freaking angel.

“Right. Well, you can ignore that one, too, I guess.”

He stood back and moved to his bed to start packing his bag, throwing guns and knives into his duffel and sitting down once he was done, which he was pretty soon because most of their things were still in the car anyway.

“What’s he doing in there anyway?” Dean had managed to tear himself away from Castiel’s side, shoving the demon killing knife into his bag.

“Taking a shower.” Well, duh. Motel room walls, thin as paper, Dean couldn’t possibly not hear the water running.

“Yeah, but… I mean, do they do that?”

“Do what?”

“Showers.”

Sam looked up, rolling his eyes when he noticed that Dean was looking at Castiel.

Narrowing his eyes when he noticed that Castiel was still staring out of the window.

And Sam kind of wondered if maybe Castiel was sick or something, because his face was dark and worried, for no reason at all.

Nothing to see there. Just darkness.

He looked away, back at his bag, and then back at the window because there shouldn’t be darkness. It couldn’t be past five, there should be dusk if anything.

And even if it were night, it should not be so dark. Completely black and kinda… smoky.

Oh. Well, thank god for salt.

“What are they doing?”

“They are sealing us in.”

Sam thought that didn’t sound very plausible, coming from Castiel, Angel of the Lord.

“Yeah, but we don’t care, right?”

He wasn’t surprised when Castiel chose not to answer Sam but turned around immediately when Dean said his name.

“I’m afraid we do.”

“Why? We got you. Just AngelAir us outta here.”

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean, you can’t?”

The shower stopped, and at the sound of the door being opened Sam averted his eyes from his brother and Castiel eyefucking so shamelessly it would’ve made the younger hunter blush, hadn’t he been used to it.

Gabriel emerged from the bathroom, and he was looking… odd.

The shirt fit, more or less, it was a bit long but not overly baggy. The pants, well. Sam just hoped he wouldn’t trip over them.

But the wounds were covered, which was good, and he wasn’t limping that much.

Also, he was looking kinda nice wearing Sam’s clothes. Sam didn’t know why, he just liked the sight.

Then again, he didn’t, at all. Because Gabriel might look good like this, wearing Sam’s clothes, his hair still wet, tiny droplets of water on the skin of his neck, but all that was just because he’d taken a shower.

And he’d taken a shower because he was so weak he couldn’t get the blood off his vessel.

He’d put on a smile but it was fake; like he didn’t even try. His eyes were tired.

He closed the door behind himself and stepped closer, and Sam barely suppressed a shudder.

Not just tired. Hopeless. As if he’d given up already.

Sam swallowed and let his gaze drop to the archangel’s shoulders. Couldn’t take it. Gabriel was supposed to be strong. The strongest. He acted like the world’s biggest dick, sure, but he wasn’t half bad. And he was mighty. His big brothers were gone. Making Gabriel the mightiest thing in this world.

The mightiest thing in the universe.

He didn’t look like that right now. He looked broken. Done. And it wasn’t bearable.

Sam was about to ask if he needed anything, but Gabriel dropped the towel he’d been ruffling his hair with onto his bed and passed him, rubbing the back of his neck when he saw what seemed to be freaking Castiel out.

“Well. We’re screwed.”

Sam still didn’t get it. Neither did Dean. Good thing Gabriel wasn’t averse to explaining.

“Listen, you muttonheads, what you call zapping is _flying_. We could just disappear and reappear, sigils and crap would be useless. We gotta get through walls when we wanna get into a room. We’re quick, that’s all. Now these bastards out there, Crowley sent them. So they know that. What they’re doing? It’s like a giant glass dome, except that it’s not glass, it’s demons. There’s not a single hole in that thing. We can’t get through. Well, they can’t stop an angel, so Cas can get through, but he can’t take passengers. We’re stuck.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Gabriel moved closer to the window, causing the demon smoke to speed up, an awful, screeching noise filling the room. Castiel’s gaze darkened.

“Now they know you’re here.”

“Course they do, Cassie, the big bad boss sent them to get me.”

There was the teensiest hint of a genuine smirk tugging at his lips. Because the demons had sensed him, Sam assumed. The demons had sensed him, which meant that Gabriel’s Grace wasn’t gone completely.

And that seemed to make him reckless.

“Alrighty. Gonna go save our asses.” The smirk he flashed them as he went towards the door wasn’t genuine, but his eyes weren’t as hopeless anymore. Which was good, right?

Wrong, according to Castiel.

“No.”

He raised his hand and Gabriel stopped. Judging by his expression, he wasn’t okay with it.

“Cas-“

“No. And do not try to make me obey, Gabriel. You almost died, your Grace-”

“Screw that. You know what I can do!”

Sam almost winced; there was desperation in his voice, and it was wrong. So, so wrong.

Castiel didn’t avert his gaze, and he didn’t lower his hand.

“I’m sorry, brother, but I won’t let you. It’s too dangerous.”

“Oh c’mon. What do I have to lose?”

“Everything.”

Gabriel went quiet at that.

He held Castiel’s gaze easily but there was no real heat in it. Defiance, sure, but no anger, and eventually he gave up, closing his eyes with a shrug.

“Let me go.”

Castiel lowered his arm and Gabriel returned to his bed, flopping down and fixing his gaze on the ceiling.

Sam looked down at him, giving him a once over – to make sure the stitches were fine, of course.

No blood on the shirt, it was completely clean, but when his gaze reached Gabriel’s face he noticed that the archangel was looking at him, which made him clear his throat.

He wanted to say that he was only checking the stitches, because he might have been looking damn carefully, and it might have been creepy, but Gabriel shook his head when Sam opened his mouth.

“’M fine, kiddo.”

He sent him a smile, then, and it was goddamn tiny. But genuine. And Sam returned it.

And then he looked up again, because Dean was saying something and it didn’t sound happy.

“- give a damn. It’s a freakin’ stupid idea.”

Castiel was frowning at him, and he was standing a lot closer to the door, which seemed to be the reason for the discussion/eyefucking that was going on between Dean and the angel.

“Dean, be reasonable-“

“You be reasonable!”

“I can-“

“I don’t care, Cas. There’s like a billion demons out there-“

“About thirty.”

“and some of them could be mighty-“

“I would feel it.”

“-and I’m sure there’s another way.”

“Dean, there isn’t.”

But Dean didn’t listen. He picked up his bag and pulled out salt and holy water, causing Castiel to shake his head.

“That won’t work. They might not be able to possess you, but they can hurt you. And they’re stronger like this, without their vessels. You are not important, Dean, they want Gabriel. If you leave this room, they will kill you.”

“Yeah, well, they can try. Sam, you coming? I need the knife.”

Sam chose not to answer, because he knew that Dean was being ridiculous, and seeing as Castiel knew that, too, he’d rather sit there and enjoy the show.

“Dean. You can’t stab smoke.”

“Watch me.”

A soft snort made Sam turn his head, and Gabriel was grinning, shrugging when the younger hunter looked at him.

“They always like that?”

Sam couldn’t help the sigh.

“More often than not.”

“That’s adorable. And ridiculous. Oh. Nice one, virgin.”

Sam looked back at their brothers at that, to find that Dean was still glaring but not speaking anymore. Castiel had raised his arm again, which explained Dean’s rather atypical, atypically quiet behaviour.

“Will you listen to me? You heard Gabriel, they can’t stop an angel. They are not here to attack us, they are supposed to keep us from leaving this room until Crowley sends mightier beings. I will go out there and get rid of them. And I don’t need your permission, _Dean_.”

Dean’s glare alone was an insult, but Castiel held it unfazedly.

Sam had a question, though.

“Crowley knows you’re here, though. We blew up his prison, pretty sure he knows you’re alive.  You think he’s stupid enough to send demons you can take out?”

“When Crowley met me I was far from being myself. I wasn’t as strong as I should have been. And my condition didn’t improve after making that deal. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was underestimating me.”

Sam glanced at Gabriel, Gabriel nodded, and Sam nodded, too. If an archangel believed it, it couldn’t be wrong.

Of course, Dean still didn’t approve. But Dean and Castiel, that was complicated. And he couldn’t voice his opinion anyway.

Castiel closed the shutters with a wave of his hand and glanced at Dean when he mumbled something, something that sounded a lot like “Be careful, you son of a bitch.”

The angel nodded and then he was gone, feathers fluttering as he disappeared.

Dean cursed, obviously the spell was gone, and dropped down onto his bed, scowling at the shutters in front of the window, blocking his sight.

“Don’t worry, Dean-o, your boyfriend’s gonna be okay. Ordinary demons, out there, nothing he can’t handle.”

Dean ignored him.

 

But Gabriel was right; Castiel returned, barely five minutes later, not a single scratch on him.

Sam got up and helped Gabriel stand, too, even though the archangel didn’t seem to like it.

“’S just some cuts, Samsquatch, he didn’t cut off my legs. I’m fine.”

So Sam let go of him, and Gabriel swayed slightly, immediately reaching out to grip Sam’s shoulder, frowning at the floor as he held onto it.

Sam didn’t touch him again, just let himself be touched, but he made sure to move slowly so Gabriel could keep up.

They grabbed their bags, left the motel key on the desk, and Dean found that this was the right moment to start a discussion about the Impala.

“We can’t leave her, Cas!”

Castiel was spending too much time with them, obviously, because his annoyed glare was almost as good as Dean’s.

“I took care of your car, Dean.”

“What do you mean? Where is she?”

“At Bobby’s. And if you could kindly shut up, I can bring you there, too.”

Dean shut up, of course, and Sam decided to not point out that it was fairly nice of Castiel, that he’d made sure the Impala was safe before Dean started bitching. Fairly nice. Fairly sweet.

Then the angel’s finger touched his forehead, and the motel room vanished, turning into Bobby’s yard.


End file.
